Page 68 of Murder in the Lighthouse

“Yeah, that would be in bad taste.”

“Oh, look, I found the perfect cranberry sauce recipe,” Brogan announced, marking the page with a sticky note for later reference.

Lucien rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, silently wondering if he’d survive past Thursday. She’d been touchy since Amalie’s visit. She hadn’t gone near the folder the professor had left. He hoped she was waiting to share some of that information with Delia when she arrived. Instead, she kept obsessing about Rachel’s life before that plane crashed. It was like she was trying too hard to pull memories from that time period. She thought she was hiding it. But he was on the verge of suggesting that his wife seek therapy.

With each passing day, he wasn’t sure how she could manage a houseful of guests under this kind of stress, even though she had gone the extra mile to get everything ready.

The scratched old dining table from his workshop had been moved onto the patio thanks to extra muscle from Beckett and Birk. It sat draped in two heirloom lace tablecloths that Delia had shipped FedEx from Connecticut for the occasion.

The transformation wasn’t limited to just the dining table, though. Brogan had taken on the laborious task of cleaning and polishing a set of sterling silver flatware Rory’s mother had used in England back in the 1950s. Brogan had discovered the wooden boxed set among Rory’s possessions stowed in the hall closet. Each piece had sent her down another nostalgic road, reminding her that she should visit Rory’s relatives across the pond more often.

Lucien had spent Friday afternoon in his workshop, crafting a long wooden candleholder for the table’s centerpiece out of reclaimed barn wood that matched their fireplace mantel, adding a slice of rustic charm.

Every room in the house was decked out with fresh flowers, reflecting the care they were putting into the preparations.

Brogan had taken the time to arrange a welcome basket for Delia in the downstairs guest room, filled with her favorite tea and cookies. For Austin, she had put out his favorite snacksand drinks. For Jack and Maeve, she stocked the guest house with fresh linens and towels, an assortment of jams, and artisan bread she’d baked. She had even left a massive bouquet of lavender and rosemary in their bedroom.

As the festive preparations continued, she seemed determined to create a perfect holiday atmosphere, perhaps as a way to distract herself from the unresolved questions that haunted her.

The Saturday evening before Delia and Austin arrived, Lucien found Brogan in the kitchen, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded bread dough for tomorrow’s lunch. From behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’ve outdone yourself, Brogan. Everything looks amazing and smells like a bakery.”

She flashed a weary smile. “Thanks. My aim is a Martha Stewart-type holiday feast with the perfect turkey and dressing.”

Lucien sensed the underlying anxiety in her voice. “And it will be. But remember, it’s okay to take a break and breathe. You don’t have to do everything by yourself. I’m right here. Tell me what I can do to help.”

She sighed, relaxing her body against his. “There’s so much on my mind right now, I’ve needed all this as a distraction to keep me sane.”

“Has it worked?”

“Mostly.”

When the doorbell rang, the dogs began to bark. He frowned. “Are we expecting anyone for dinner?”

“Nope. If they're hungry, they’ll have to settle for leftovers from last night’s rib roast. That’s what we’re having as soon as I set this bread aside to rise overnight.”

He checked the Ring Cam app on his phone. “Uh-oh. That looks like the kid from San Diego.”

Brogan frowned. “What kid? You aren’t talking about Evan, are you?”

He held up his phone, turning the screen around so she could see the image for herself as the doorbell chimed again. “That’s exactly who it is.”

He didn’t exactly rush to answer the front door. But when he did, he saw a mirror image of himself at nineteen. “Hello, there.”

“Hey, I hate to show up on your doorstep like this, but my name’s Evan Sanders. If you’re Lucien Sutter, I heard your podcast last week about the big serial killer case you closed in Santa Cruz. I think I’m your half-brother. It turns out, Graeme Sutter is my father.”

“You took a DNA test about six months ago, didn’t you?”

“I did. And I have a big problem.”

Lucien stared at the young man in disbelief for a moment before stepping aside and allowing him to enter. He led Evan into the living room, where the smells from the kitchen mingled with bread dough and rib roast.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, trying to buy himself a moment to process this unexpected guest.

Evan shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

Brogan stepped into the room, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. “So, you’re Evan,” she said with a soft smile, curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

“You know about me?”

“Why don't you sit and tell us why you’re here?” Brogan said, avoiding the question.

A nervous Evan sat on the edge of the couch, his shoulders visibly tense. “I’m not here to make trouble. I never intended to get in touch with you at all. But I heard you on Jade Weingarten’s murder podcast. It turns out, I need a websleuth.”

Lucien stared at his half-sibling. “Why on earth would you need a websleuth? Shouldn’t you be hanging out in La Jolla and surfing your ass off?”

“I wish but no such luck. My mother went to Cabo San Lucas on vacation with a guy she’d only known for a few months.” Evan rolled his eyes. “They’d only been dating for a short time. I told her not to go. And I haven’t heard from her since she boarded the plane last Wednesday. I’m starting to get worried. It’s not like her not to send me a dozen pictures. But I haven’t received a single text message. The Mexican authorities won’t take me seriously. The guy she went there with isn’t answering his phone, either. The hotel said they never checked in as planned. I called a few other hotels in the area but had no luck locating them. I think something bad has happened to her. I need somebody to do something. That’s when I thought of you. Can you help me? Please say yes.”

Lucien traded looks with Brogan, smiled, and clapped a hand on Evan’s back. “Absolutely. That’s what we do. Let’s go into my office. Come on, Evan, let’s find out what happened to your mom.”